


Got Milk

by wheel_pen



Series: Viridian Mal [23]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fish out of Water, Gen, Imprinting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 16:29:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dairy products get Mal drunk. Who knew?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Got Milk

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Viridians appear human, but are actually aliens who imprint on other people (Viridian or otherwise) and form a bond with them. They also live their entire life cycle in about six Earth years.
> 
> 2\. In each series, a different character is a Viridian, who was raised by mean Klingons on an outpost. An Enterprise crewmember is captured by the Klingons and they inadvertently form a bond with the Viridian, who helps them escape. Then they return to rescue the Viridian and bring them aboard the Enterprise. The Viridian homeworld is contacted and the Enterprise crew learn the Viridian will most likely die if they are sent away. So they end up staying on the Enterprise, and the crewmember has to adjust.
> 
> 3\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

"Massage class?" Archer repeated, incredulous.

Phlox nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, I think it would be very therapeutic for the crew. On a long voyage such as this one, far from home, tensions do tend to build up. If they aren't dealt with in a healthy fashion, they could _snap_ quite dramatically." As always the doctor's facial expression and tone were slightly incongruous with his words—anyone who didn't know him might think he was actually looking _forward_ to dramatic snapping of tensions.

"And you would... lead this class?" Archer surmised.

"Well, I _do_ hold seven degrees and certifications in a variety of touch-based therapies," Phlox reminded him. "I'm sure there would be any number of crewmembers with an aptitude for tactile treatments who could soon perform rudimentary techniques without supervision, however."

Archer pictured the Bridge crew giving each other backrubs and foot massages during their downtime, and inviting new species over for some invigorating facials and organically-grown salads. It seemed a little much to him. Although there had been that one massage he received in Mexico that he thought longingly of every time he had to deal with the Vulcan High Command.

"Well, maybe..." he finally hedged. "Maybe you could write up a proposal on it for me."

"Of course, Captain," Phlox agreed heartily. "You won't be sorry! Although," he added speculatively, "it may mean modifying the environmental controls in certain areas of the ship..." Archer gave him a questioning look. "To be taught properly the class would be held in the nude, of course, and chilliness would certainly not be conducive to relaxation!"

"In the nude?" the Captain repeated numbly (though not as numbly as someone attempting nude massage on chilly deck plating).

"Certainly!" Phlox assured him happily. "One must have complete freedom of movement, after all. The seminar I taught at the Interspecies Medical Exchange on deep-tissue muscle relaxation was held in the nude, and it was very popular!"

"Um, well..." Archer was trying to find a polite way of saying 'no way in h—l' when the doors to Sickbay parted, admitting two crew members. One of whom let out a loud giggle upon entry.

The look on Trip's face when he saw the Captain talking to Phlox clearly said he was contemplating just turning back around. Unfortunately after Mal grabbed Trip's hands and spun him around in a staggering waltz, complete with an off-key and off-rhythm vocal beat, Trip was afraid there was no way Archer and Phlox could possibly pretend they just hadn't seen anything. Even if they wanted to.

Mal stopped mid-turn, staring at the two crewmembers they had come upon. "Look!" he announced suddenly. "It's Doctor Phlox!" He attempted to point at the doctor but was off by several degrees. "Phhhhhhhhhhhllllllllllllooooooooooxxxxxxx... That's a funny word, isn't it?" Then he chortled.

"Trip," Archer began. _What the h—l?_ was clearly the rest of the sentence.

Trip sighed, held on to what parts of Mal he could, and dragged the other man towards a biobed. "I think he's sick," Trip tried. He attempted to seat Mal on a biobed, while Mal attempted to slither off it, apparently thinking this some kind of hilarious new game. If Trip pushed on his left shoulder Mal squirmed right, if Trip blocked his midsection Mal went boneless and slipped from his grasp. Trip finally grabbed his legs, which led to Mal delightedly hanging upside down from the bed with Trip thrown over his shins to keep him from tumbling to the floor, Mal cackling all the while like a monkey who'd eaten a few too many rotten bananas.

"Get up, GET UP!" Trip demanded, frustrated. He was as red-faced as Mal, with both anger and embarrassment, although Mal's coloring was more due to the hanging-upside-down bit.

Still giggling Mal finally lowered himself to the floor. "Captain Archer," he announced woozily, somehow staggering even as he knelt. "Arrrrrrrrrrrchhhhhhhhheeeerrrrr... Nope, that's _not_ a funny word," he judged harshly. Then he snickered and collapsed around Trip's feet.

Slowly Trip looked up, meeting the eyes of his commanding officer. "I think he's sick," he repeated hopefully.

"I _think_ he's intoxicated," Phlox corrected, looking at the hand scanner he'd pointed at Mal.

Trip was trying a new tactic. "Come on, Mal, sit up here, come on," he urged with fake cheerfulness, patting the biobed. "Come on, it'll be fun!"

Mal liked fun things. Although the floor seemed to be made of putty when he tried to stand on it. Or maybe those were his legs. "Why's everything all wobbly?" he demanded of Trip, clutching him in random and occasionally inappropriate places. "I don't like wobbly things!"

"Yes, I know," Trip agreed. "Let's get up on the bed, it won't be wobbly there, okay?"

"Okay!" The best he could manage on his own was flopping across the biobed on his stomach, hands dangling over one side, rear in the air. Trip closed his eyes for a moment, willing patience, and opened them to see Mal with his arms and legs sticking straight out, wobbling on purpose.

"Lookit me, Trip!" he exclaimed gleefully. "I'm flying!"

"You sure are, buddy," Trip told him, rolling him over and sitting him up.

Archer had his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for a moment of relative peace to unleash his disapproval. "Trip. You got him _drunk_?"

"I didn't, Captain, I swear!" Trip insisted earnestly, batting Mal's hands away. Mal giggled, fluttering his hands even more at Trip to continue the new game. "All he had was peach pie and milk. That's it." Trip grabbed Mal's wrists firmly. "And he's had peach pie before."

"I love peach pie," Mal informed them all, passionately. "It's almost my favorite. My _very_ favorite is pecan pie, but I can't have that because it would kill me. One time, it almost _did_ kill me, and that was sad, but Trip made it _all_ better..." Finally taking a breath in his ramble, Mal used the pause to throw his arms around Trip, nearly knocking them both over. "I love you, Trip!"

Trip sighed and patted Mal's back. "I know, buddy."

"I love you _soooooooooo_ much... Do you want to know how much I love you?"

"It would appear," Phlox interrupted, none too soon, "that Viridian physiology reacts to certain proteins in milk the same way human physiology reacts to ethanol. How interesting."

"You mean, he gets drunk on _milk_?" Trip translated with disbelief. Archer rubbed a hand over his eyes tiredly, wondering how many more surprises they were in for with Mal. Although as long as Trip hadn't been doing whiskey shots with him... it _was_ kind of amusing to see his Chief Engineer being petted and cooed to so solicitously.

"...we'll go off together, just you and me, Trip, and we'll live in a nice, warm, dark, cozy place, like the J12 access tube, and we'll sleep and eat pineapples and take hot showers and clean things..." Mal was promising Trip in a loud whisper.

"Tell me, Commander," Phlox questioned, "how _much_ milk did he drink, precisely?"

"Um, well..." Trip obviously hadn't been paying that much attention at the time. "A couple glasses, I think. _Big_ glasses."

"And this is the first time, to your knowledge, that Mal has consumed milk?"

Trip pulled Mal's hands out of his hair—though not before his previous neat appearance had been turned into a spiky disarray—and tried to remember Mal's record of food consumption. There had just been so much of it, frankly. "Well, um, yeah, I guess... I mean, he eats cheese all the time..."

"I thought you were going to be more careful about introducing him to new foods?" Archer reminded his friend, trying to sound stern.

"Well, J---s, Captain, _milk_!" Trip exclaimed with exasperation. He finally turned his back on Mal, resigned to the fact that the other man was going to throw his arms around him anyway. "I mean, who woulda thought there was anything dangerous about _that_?"

"Oh, many humans have difficulty digesting lactose and other compounds in milk, Mr. Tucker," Phlox pointed out.

Trip sighed, knowing there was no way he was going to win. "I love milk!" Mal declared. "But not as much as I love Trip!" He wrapped his arms around Trip's waist and pulled the engineer to him, resting his chin on Trip's shoulder.

"Can't you give him something, Doc?" Trip pleaded, feeling like an enormous teddy bear.

"I'm sorry, Commander Tucker," Phlox replied pleasantly. "I'm afraid the only cure for this kind of intoxication is bed rest, allowing the body to process the compounds naturally."

"Trip, Trip, Trip, Trip," sang Mal. Trip judged that he shouldn't quit his day job. Mal locked his legs around Trip, too, just in case the other man had any thought of escaping him, with or without his dignity. More likely without, by this point.

"Look on the bright side, Trip," Archer suggested, his lips twitching with the effort of remaining straight. "At least he's a happy drunk." At that moment Mal started rocking Trip side to side bodily, humming not so softly, and Archer let out a very uncaptainly snort of laughter.

Trip steeled himself, gathering up whatever tiny scraps of decorum he had left. "Permission to take the rest of my shift off, Captain," he requested, trying to unhook Mal from him. "I'll make it up. Double."

"Well, I don't know, Commander..." Trip's head snapped up at him, eyes wide. _Don't you make me beg,_ they said. "No, of course, Trip," Archer assured him. "It'll be fine." He felt a little guilty now. Like the guy didn't have enough problems at the moment. "Do you need some help, maybe, or...?"

"We're gonna go home now, Mal," Trip told the other man with forced good cheer. "Isn't that _spectacular_?"

"Oh, yes, _spectacular_ ," Mal repeated eagerly, wobbling off the biobed. He immediately melted onto the floor, pulling Trip down with him. Fortunately it was a slow tumble. "That was unexpected," he observed with confusion.

"I could keep him here in Sickbay," Phlox offered.

"I wanna go home!" Mal demanded suddenly, petulant. "I wanna go home with Trip!"

"We're goin' home, we're goin' home," Trip snapped at him, as Archer helped him back up. "We just gotta get there, okay?" Trip took one side and Archer took the other, hauling Mal up between them. "Use your legs, d----t!" he ordered Mal.

Mal lolled his head to one side. "Captain Archer," he said, sounding surprised. "I didn't know _you_ were here. Are you hungry, too?"

"Hungry?" Archer repeated questioningly, although he realized there was likely no sense to be found in it.

"Yes, mmmm, I'm hungry," Mal explained, looking around. "Aren't we in the Mess Hall?"

"No, Mal," Trip sighed, beginning the slog towards the door. "We're in Sickbay."  
            "Sickbay!?" Mal repeated in alarm. "Is someone sick? Are _you_ sick, Captain?"

"Not yet," Archer replied with a grunt. Mal was heavier than he looked.

"Good luck, Commander!" Phlox called after him. "Let me know if you have any difficulties!"

Trip was of the opinion he was already having difficulties, but there was apparently nothing Phlox could do about them. "D'you want to get something to eat?" Mal inquired cheerfully.

"No, Mal," Trip retorted. "We're not getting anything to eat right now."

"BUT I'M HUNGRY!" Mal wailed suddenly, drawing the attention of several passing crewmembers. Trip smiled and nodded at the ones in his field of vision. He suspected the Captain was doing the same.

"We'll have a snack later, Mal," Trip promised him through clenched teeth. "Right now it's naptime."

"Oh, alright then," Mal agreed. Blissful silence reigned for approximately fifteen seconds before Mal questioned suspiciously, "You're going to take a nap with me, aren't you, Trip?"

"Oh, of course," Trip tried, but he didn't even sound convincing to himself, let alone someone who could sense his emotions.

"I want you to take a nap with me!" Mal demanded. "I WANT YOU TO SLEEP WITH ME!"

"Mal, would you shut the h—l up?!" Trip hissed. "Hey there, Ensign, how's it goin'?"

"Just... fine... sir..." stammered the crewman.

Being Captain gave you the privilege of confidently looking ridiculous in front of your crew on occasion... But even given that, by now Archer was beginning to regret his offer of assistance. "For a quiet guy, he's sure pretty chatty when he's plastered, isn't he?" he asked Trip pointedly.

"I had _no_ idea, Captain, I swear," Trip insisted yet again. "I mean, _milk_! Come on!"

"You're d—n lucky it only got him drunk," Archer reminded him. "My mom's lactose intolerant. If _she_ drank that much milk without taking an injection—"

"I get it, I get it," Trip agreed shortly. "Could be a lot messier." A thought suddenly occurred to him. "G-d, I hope he isn't going to throw up. Hey, Mal, buddy, how do you feel?"

"I feel _spectacular_!"

"Glad to hear it."

"Trip, Trip, Trip..." Mal reiterated in a sing-song tone. "Trippy, Tripper, Triplin..."

Archer smothered a snicker. "Mal, what are you doing?" Trip demanded in a put-upon tone.

"I'm thinking of a nickname for you," Mal replied, as if it should be obvious.

"I already _have_ a nickname," Trip pointed out sensibly.

"Really?" Mal seemed surprised by this fact. "What is it?"

Trip sighed and refused to answer. "Come on, buddy, home is just a little further," he encouraged instead.

"It must not be a very good nickname," Mal judged, "if I can't even think of it. You need something snappier, more dashing and vibrant." He sighed dramatically. In a swooning way, really.

"J---s," Trip sighed hopelessly.

"Well, he's got a good point," Jon deadpanned. Trip gave him a look that said _shut up NOW!_ But another privilege of being Captain was that Jon could ignore such looks if he chose to. "I mean, I often find myself thinking, 'Wow, Trip's looking so... _vibrant_ today.'"

"Don't forget 'dashing,'" Trip grumbled.

"Trip-o-saurus!" Mal suggested triumphantly.

"Maybe that means 'engineering lizard,'" Trip commented dryly.

"Tripalong, Triploon..."

"Aren't 'triploons' the money pirates used?" Archer asked curiously. "Or were those the puffy pants they wore?"

"Pirates didn't wear puffy pants," Trip countered, somewhat disgusted with his Captain's lack of knowledge. "I mean, geez, you ever see Errol Flynn swingin' on a rope from one ship to another, wavin' a cutlass and wearin' _puffy pants_?"

"No, no, I remember something from my 10th grade history class," Jon insisted. "Puffy pants, striped in like yellow and blue, with muskets. And feathers in their hats."

"Yeah, well, I think history's changed a lot since you were in 10th grade," Trip shot back. "I don't know what crazy-a-s world _you're_ thinkin' of, but pirates did _not_ wear puffy pants. I mean, would _you_ take someone seriously if they tried to raid your ship and their pants were just billowing in the breeze?"

"Well, I—"

"Why are we talking about idiotic things like pirate pants?!" Mal demanded, in a voice of utter exasperation at the lunacy surrounding him. "I DON'T WANT PANTS!"

Trip tried to shush Mal. "Hey, there, Lieutenant," Archer greeted cheerfully. "How's Astrometrics treating you? Good, glad to hear it..." He gave Trip a glare.

"It's not my fault," Trip hissed. "You're the one who started talking about the puffy pants."

"Tripsicle," Mal tried, rolling the word around in his mouth a few times.

"That's kind of fun," Archer suggested.

"I actually had someone call me that once," Trip admitted, adding quickly, "but that story is not appropriate for work. As it happens." Jon gave him a look that suggested he would be asking to hear this story at some later date.

"I'm tired of thinking," Mal announced with an exhausted sigh.

"Oh, but you've been doing so well," Trip countered sarcastically.

"Think of a nickname for me," Mal insisted.

"Just a little farther, Mal," Trip said instead. "We're almost home."

"I WANT A—"

"Okay, okay! Um... Mally?"

_Mally?_ Archer mouthed to Trip with bemusement. Trip's look clearly said, _Shut up, I'm trying here._

"Mallard, Mallo, Mallin, Malloway..."

"Mallet," offered Archer. He wished he had one on hand.

"Mallikin, Mallador, Malloroni," Trip tossed out, getting into the spirit of the exercise. Mal's delighted giggles showed he appreciated Trip's razor-sharp wit. For once. Even if the laughing fits threatened to knock all three of them to the deck plating.

"Um... Malvin?" Archer suggested. Mal booed.

Trip gave him a chiding look. "Kinda lame there, Jon," he pointed out. "Maldoon!" Trip drew the last syllable out theatrically, and Mal cracked up. Unfortunately he seemed unable to walk and laugh at the same time.

"Malco?" Archer tried, hoping to redeem himself.

"Mal-de-mer!" Trip topped victoriously. Archer gave him a disbelieving look. "That means 'seasickness' in French," Trip explained, with great superiority. "Appropriate, huh?"

"I didn't know you spoke French," Jon said, since he couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Yeah, well, I'm full of surprises," Trip assured him.

"That's the only thing you know in French, isn't it?" Archer guessed, and Trip had to admit he was correct.

"Except for a few other phrases which are also not appropriate for work," he amended. Jon made a mental note to add those to the list of questions he was going to ask the next time they had beer-and-water-polo night. "Look, Mal, there's home, right up there!"

There was no answer. Trip and Archer looked at each other, then tried to contort themselves to see the expression on Mal's dangling head. "You think he's asleep?" Archer asked.

"G-d, I hope so," breathed Trip. "He sure ain't walkin'."

At last they were at the cabin door, faced with a new problem—no matter how they maneuvered, neither Trip nor Archer could get into a good position to key the entry code. Unfortunately the fumbling woke Mal up—or perhaps he was just _subconsciously_ interpreting the swinging as some form of dance and swaying along dramatically.

"Here," Archer decided, since he was the captain and technically ought to decide things, "you hold him, and I'll open the door." Trip nodded, but of course as soon as Archer had released Mal into Trip's arms the dark-haired man liquefied, stopping on his knees with his arms tightly around Trip's waist.

"You okay, buddy?" Trip asked, feeling slightly more sympathetic since Mal had quieted down. He ran his fingers lightly through Mal's hair, knowing that comforted him sometimes. Mal nodded against Trip's stomach.

Archer got the door open. "Let me fix the bed first, it'll be easier," he suggested, stepping inside. Trip tried to follow him, but Mal wasn't moving. Apparently he liked the sensation of rubbing his face against Trip's uniform, or maybe he just got stuck on it, because he hadn't stopped yet. "Trip?" the Captain called a moment later.

"I'm COMING!" Trip shouted with frustration, yanking hard on his immobile anchor. Then he sagged back against the wall, the effort futile.

Mal looked up at him. "Mmmm, Tripalicious," he declared happily.

Trip glanced to the left and saw an ensign staring at them from the end of the hall. "Hi," Trip waved, thinking it couldn't possibly get any worse now.

Archer stuck his head out the doorway. "I've got the bed ready. Are you two gonna get your butts in here or what?" Then he saw the ensign. "Uh... Hi!"

"Sir!" the man squeaked before fleeing.

Trip and Jon exchanged a resigned look and together hauled Mal into the cabin, nearly flinging him onto the bed. He appeared to be out cold. Really, this time.

"Well, that was fun," Archer commented sarcastically.

"Thanks for helpin' me," Trip told him, straightening his aching back.

Archer did the same. "Maybe Phlox's massage class wouldn't be such a bad idea," he decided.

"Massage class?" Trip repeated dubiously.

"Yeah. Apparently it's conducted in the nude."

Trip shuddered. "G-d, I'm gettin' hives just imaginin' Phlox naked with a bottle of massage oil." His expression froze as he saw a _different_ ensign pause at the door they'd left open.

"Hi," Trip and Archer chorused to her innocently.

"Sirs," she choked out, retreating.

"Okay, I'm going to leave now," the Captain decided.

"I think that would be best," Trip agreed.

"It's just—you know what the saddest part of all this is," Archer added.

"Oh, there've been so many sad parts, I wouldn't know which to choose," Trip sighed. "Although the fact that we both think we know so much about what kind of pants pirates wore is pretty sad."

"That was probably number two on my list," Jon agreed. "But the saddest part is—Mal apparently doesn't say anything different when he's drunk than when he's sober."

"He just says it louder, and more often," Trip nodded. "Well, isn't that wonderful, that he's so honest and open." This last bit was said quite acerbically.

"I'm really leaving now. Call me if you, you know," Jon said, gesturing vaguely towards Mal.

"Thanks."

"And Trip? No more milk. _Ever_."


End file.
